


Key-Hole of Secrets

by Kira_Katashi



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bond and Q have beautiful wings, Fluff, Inspired by Art, Inventor!Q, M/M, Rating May Change, Wings, fae!au, knight!Bond, though Bond can't fly, two idiots falling in love without knowing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25497241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kira_Katashi/pseuds/Kira_Katashi
Summary: Bond just had a shit day and doesn't get home in time before the rain starts and seeks shelter at the side of a tree-stump.Good that Q lives in it and has enough manners to offer shelter for a Knight.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	1. the Knight with the Blue Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrKsan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrKsan/gifts).



> Hello fellows,  
> I have the absolute pleasure to see artwork from [Ksan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrKsan/pseuds/MrKsan) fairly often in the MI6-Cafe Slack-chat. She truly has a hand for Bond AUs and color and I get quickly inspired.  
>  ~~I broke my personal word of not creating more than a one-shot when I have another open ff for this.~~  
>  Anyhow, I definetly have to give out another thanks to [Anyawen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyawen/pseuds/Anyawen) who was kind enough to be my second eyes for the first chapter and look out for my mistakes.
> 
> Link to this artwork's tumblr [blog post](https://ksansart.tumblr.com/post/618397097673277440/self-indulgent-fairy-q-and-james-all-because-i)
> 
> Link to [Ksan's tumblr artblog](https://ksansart.tumblr.com)
> 
> Happy reading!

Another drop of sweat joined the others rolling down his face.

Bond should’ve been on a simple checkup-mission but like everything he touched or was involved in…it went wrong. The gate near the Skyfall manor was one of the last still connecting their plane with the human one and it certainly would’ve made sealing out the Darkness easier if it was simply destroyed. But too many fae still lingered on the other side and were slow to migrate their homes.

Bond fully understood not wanting to leave _home,_ but their reluctance didn’t make his job easier.

With a great huff leaving his lungs Bond swung his heavy spear around and tore another Shadow apart.

He nearly called out to the mages to close the rift in the passageway, but he saw the remaining three out of _thirteen_ Gatekeeper Mages struggling to get into position. Filling his lungs with just another deep breath of rust-smelling air Bond sprinted over to the mages felling two other Shadows in his wake.

Swinging his favorite weapon in a wide arc tore through more formless Shadows and let those who had something resembling a shape back away.

When the mages _fucking finally_ started chanting the mass of dark in front of him seemingly came back to life; pressing forward only to be shred into pieces and poofing into nothingness. His muscles burned and protested with every thrust and swung arc, but he was long enough in his job to simply ignore it until he was in a safe place to break down.

It was like a delicate dance he had long since mastered.

Sometimes a Shadow would come close enough to touch him – a feeling as if doused in ice water that, should he be engulfed in shadows, would kill him by freezing him into a statue that would shatter at the tiniest of touch.

But just like with the exhaustion, Bond simply continued.

Another arc, another thrust.

A waver in one of the chanting voices alerted him that something was wrong. One of the Shadows, with a clear distinction between four legs, body and head, had broken out and was just about to lunge for the smallest and probably youngest mage.

Letting his protectiveness flare up, Bond spread his flightless wings and used what little draft they still created to propel him forward.

Just like the others he tore through it just fine but with a soft _ping,_ clearly audible despite its low volume over the howling sounds created by those dark creatures, broke the blade-part cleanly off his spear.

In his surprise Bond wasn’t prepared to land on his feet again and had to roll out of the way. Blinking for just a moment at the…staff…that remained in his hands he felt oddly sad about it. Walther had been a tool – sure – but he had been at his side ever since Mansfield the leader of the 6th sector of Main Island had declared him the 7th Knight and Guardian.

It was over five years ago now.

Knowing that hesitance would get him killed Bond channeled his feelings into contained rage and used just more of his brute force to defeat his enemies; though now, without the blade, not all were torn to bits much to his frustration.

He didn’t have to fight with his _improvised_ weapon for long. The mages managed to wrap up their spell, effectively sealing the rift and indirectly decimating all Darkness in the vicinity with the resulting burst of magic.

The change of atmosphere would be startling for a newbie.

In just a second the smell of rust was gone, clouds that had obscured the sun made way for the warm rays and without the sound of howling winds and animals nearby, the whole area was eerily silent. Some odd little piles of silvery blue shards laid here and there.

Places where the Gatekeepers had been frozen and shattered.

More victims that had fallen in this seemingly never-ending back and forth between them and the Shadows.

And – reflecting a bit of sun – there was the blade to his staff.

Melancholy, Bond picked it up and brushed a bit of earth away. It was beautiful craftmanship that the smiths, in teamwork with some of the mages in the capital, had made heavier and heavier for him the clearer it became that he would be ground-bound in the long run. If he wouldn’t be flying anyway his spear could become heavier and more durable.

But it still broke.

Bond knew it was only a tool which could be replaced but it still felt somewhat…odd, to lose something he had for so long, especially when he considered, that he didn’t own much or whatever he owned had to be replaced frequently like his clothes or gear.

The fluttering of many wings announced the arrival of backup, too late to be of any use.

Medics picked up the nearly unconscious mages and some other picked up the dust of the fallen discreetly. Their remains would be scattered over the Diamond Fields.

A gasp made him turn around.

She was a young medic, very round wings transitioning from a gentle rosé to pale red tips; horror in her eyes imminent setting him instantly on edge, eyes darting back and forth to see whatever threat was around.

There was nothing.

It only dawned on Bond when she whispered _your wings_.

With a deep breath to center himself Bond twisted and found the gash that tore through his right wing as well as the three small ones in his left. Must have happened during his roll.

It was a testimony to his useless appendages that he didn’t feet it. Were this six years ago he now would be crying on the floor, yowling in pain.

“You got some plasters?”

Shock written all over her face the face, she grabbed blindly into the bag at her hip and held out the white and sticky strips out to him.

“Thank you.”

With a smile and a half curtesy, Bond left her behind and found a stone to comfortably sit on. With a lot of awkward bending he managed to get to the biggest gash, made sure that the tissue was correctly aligned and put the plasters over it so it could grow close in peace. The same was repeated for the smaller ones as well, the one closest to his shoulders being a bitch.

Wounds now fixed Bond could make the long trek home. With one last shuffle to make sure that his wings fell neatly down his back and were out of the way, he started his slow jog home.

~*~

“Hurry, hurry, rain is coming!”

As if Bond didn’t know that – the clouds were already large and dark looming on the horizon behind him. Still, it didn’t depend on which postman or woman it was, they all liked to talk _especially_ about weather and he now had one darting speedily over his head.

Well, it did affect them. If it rained too much, their obnoxious yellow wings – that seemingly _all_ of them possessed – clogged up and they couldn’t carry on their tasks.  
He always mused if it stood in the job requirement to have yellow wings as a postman – it would be unlogical – though he still had to meet one postguy who didn’t have them.

Indulging in reminiscences of his full-flight days before Bond was quick to stop these thoughts again before the hollowness connected to the lack of flight could take a hold in his chest.

One would think it would get easier with time, but it was still something that felt… _raw_.

Bond subtly shook his head and instead weighted the choices; if he should make a run and hope for shelter before the rain reached him or if it was a futile effort and he would get drenchingly wet anyway, making his run a waste of breath.

 _Nah_ , he would run – it would do him good for training and after having faced so much frustration today, all Bond wanted was a good strong drink and his comfy sofa.

The faster he was home the better.

With one last look to the clouds behind him Bond sprang forward, disappearing into the high grass-jungle of the meadow.

* * *

Quentin listened to the raindrops hitting the roof of his tree-stump.

A gentle drumming sound.

Some minutes of quietness in his mind.

.

.

.

Maybe he should open the windows to let in fresh air and set some of his plants out to water.

.

And with that his little bubble of peace was gone and his mind was back to rearranging, inventing and fixing things. With a sigh he stood up stretching arms and wings alike and set his impromptu plan in motion.

He grabbed the nearest pot in reach and with three strong wingbeats was at the very top of his high-ceiling home to open the window-shutters and place the pot in the appropriate fixtures outside. A gentle breeze of fresh air greeted him and he took in with a deep breath.

A flash of blue caught his attention.

It was a vibrant blue, very shiny. And the blue was the main color of the wings belonging to a fae sitting on the ground under his window.

Quentin guessed male, the poor guy was drenched to the bone – bloody hell! The blue of his wings was one thing but the blue of his eyes – downright _icy_ and captivating. Staring longer than was socially acceptable Quentin only noticed the crest stitched onto his chest a bit later.

The stranger was a Knight.

_\- Knights are our Protectors little moth, so when they need help you can give, help them. -_

“Do you want to come in?”

Quentin was listening to his mother’s words. A Knight was approved by the capital, so he shouldn’t be in any way hostile and maybe he had some news for Quentin too. Away from any major route any kind of news barely reached him.

And it was simple decency to not let anyone sit alone in the rain.

The stranger gave him a subtle nod and stood up.

Revealing a hole in the wing.

Quentin froze.

With such a wound the Knight must’ve been in excruciating pain!

“Wait, I am opening the lower gate for you.”

Quentin flew down as fast as he could to open the gate at ground level, which he normally used to get bigger projects in and out of his home. The heavy mechanism was his pride and joy, groaning when it moved the reinforced bark-wall out of the way. That door had taken him months to implement without further killing the tree-stump and no other project before had taken him such an excessive use of magic.

Head held high and with no outward signs of pain the Knight came inside. He wasn’t a giant with maybe a few millimeters on Quentin but the he was broad, so unlike the normal lean fae body-structure.

And the Knight was creating a puddle on his floor.

“Let me get something for your wings and some towels.”

“Oh.”

It sounded as if the Knight had… _forgotten_ about his wings?!  
Incredulously, Quentin jogged to the wall where he collected his plants and grabbed the most potent one for numbing pain, giving it to the other.

“Bite on it a few times but don’t swallow it whole, it should take away most of the pain.”

“Pain? You mean my wings. Don’t worry, I can’t feel them.”

Quentin froze at the implications. Those who don’t feel their wings, can’t adjust mid-flight which meant no flight _at all_.

“A-at least, let me get something to mend the gash.”

Quentin got another affirmative nod for that.

After giving his new house-guest towels and a large cushion to sit down, Quentin was off to get his own kind of plasters. While the standard issues did their job, his were simply _better_. And it wasn’t an exaggeration. Quentin always did things _better_.

Well, it wasn’t plaster-shaped but a viscous, honey-like goo to knit the tissue back together without washing off as soon as just a few droplets of water hit it. Instead it would dry out and flake off on his own, and when it did that after 4 to 5 days the former wound may feel tender, but all was back together.

The Knight allowed Quentin to put it on his wings, but he could feel the steely gaze following him and his hands every step on the way. It was unnerving.

But Quentin did his…job? His duty?...- He moved to fix the wings.

It was the largest gash he started with. Kneeling sideward beside the Knight, he very carefully moved the tissue flap created by the wound back into position and smeared the goo with his other gloved hand on where the tissue had to heal back together.

Up close the color of the other’s wings was even more impressive; what seemed to be a solid color was actually made up of tiny scales in a plethora of shades between metallic silver and deep blue and the schiller-black markings just brought more attention to the beautiful blue.

The Knight turning his shoulders a bit tore Quentin out of his thoughts and he finished up with an embarrassed harrumph.

“Everything is glued, are there other wounds…”

He trailed off, not actually knowing the name of the Knight.

“Bond, James Bond. I have no wounds otherwise.”

“Hello Bond, I am Quentin,” after a moment of thought he added, “though just Q is fine too.”

Silence stretched between them for some uncomfortable minutes until something reflecting besides Bond caught his attention. Leaning a bit to the side Quentin could see a metal pole laying half-hidden beside the cushion.

“You fight with a staff?”

“…No. My spear-blade broke off in my last fight.”

Broken.

Quentin was good with broken things and needed something to distract himself from the tension in the air.

“If you still have the blade, I could fix it for you.”

For a split-second Bond’s eyes darted around.

“I don’t see an anvil around.”

“I have a better way of fixing things that simply force the metal back together.”

That visibly caught Bond’s attention.

“How?”

“Magic. If you would smith the spear back together and want to keep it’s current form it’ll just break again with a bit of pressure.”

Quentin somewhat understood the other’s hesitance. While fae were capable of magic, not a lot pursued to train it to a truly good level and if one was good, it was very likely to be asked to help at the gates.  
Small and delicate things were especially difficult. Many things could go wrong.

But he hasn’t trained for nothing.

And his determination must’ve been what convinced Bond because he freed the bundle at his side, which Quentin hadn’t noticed before, but which must contain the blade, and gave both – it and the staff – to him. The Blade was surprisingly heavy though amazing craftsmanship. Besides the obvious, clean break he couldn’t find any sign of scratching or usage besides the well-worn leather wrapped around the staff for grip.

Even more of a reason to fix it to the best of his abilities.

Straightening his posture Quentin focused onto the warmth deep within him that was his magic and called it forth for an experimental flow through the metal. The metal was old but well cared for, his magic plants should have no trouble finding hold on it to bind the two pieces together.

With a small satisfied smile Quentin broke out of his concentration to get the seeds. He laid the spear onto the table as if it where whole and cupped his hands around the split holding the seeds against it.

Drawing back into his magic he willed the seeds to grow, to spread the roots around the staff as well as aiding some to reach into the metal itself. Knit the roots, weave together the stems all until the whole break was fixed together again.

Tired and yawning wide Quentin pulled away. Opening eyes he didn’t remember closing to watch even some tiny red flowers bloom.

A good sign.

The flower has properly taken to the metal.

Just to be sure of the integrity of his fix he picked up the spear and tried to break it with his own strength – nothing budged or moved.

With a grin he turned around and presented Bond his weapon.

“Flowers?...How should they hold this better together than forging?”

“Try it.”

Given the limited space of Quentin’s home and the size of the spear Bond couldn’t do more than some simple swings which didn’t convince him of the stability. But it was nothing he could truly test now.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Quentin yawned again.

And yawning meant tea-time. Given the tired state of his mind he only remembered belated that he had a guest but fixed him a cup as well which Bond accepted.

“So, Bond, what brings you into my parts of the meadow?”

“Was on my way home.”

“Any news from the capital?”

“Same old, same old.”

Quentin sighed; the Knight wasn’t the most conversional one. So, he gave up on talking, got out a cushion for himself and made himself comfortable on the floor with his cup, reveling in the pleasant temperature.

Slowly the gentle drum on the roof ceased and Bond set his own cup down. A clear sign that he was ready to depart again. After the Knight had secured everything on his person again he turned to Quentin.

“Thank you for… _fixing_ Walther.”

“Don’t sound so skeptical, I can assure you my magic is better than any smiths could’ve done for you. And who names a spear Walther?”

“I did.”

After that comment both kept silent.

Sighing Quentin let Bond out and watched the Knight with the blue wings draped behind him disappear in the grass.

Why did he have the feeling it wasn’t the last he had seen of him?

…He was in dire need of sleep.


	2. the Inventor with Thick Glasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who finally managed another chapter?  
> Me!  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> I should work with self-set deadlines more often.
> 
> Happy reading.

_“I want you to escort the new Inventor 007, bring him in safely and as fast as possible.”_

_“Understood.”_

* * *

Quentin had the foresight to ask the grasshoppers to help him with his cart. Human trash hurt nature most of the times it laid around to fester but one could find useful gems among it.

This particular mountain of garbage had been in the woods since he could think – nobody truly knew when it had appeared other than it had to be  _ old _ . Maybe it dated even back before the faeries had separated their own plane of reality! Anyway, in a box he had found broken pocket watches.

Their gears were tiny to humans but to him they were perfect.

Salvaging surprisingly many his cart was filled to the max with them and the grasshoppers help was direly needed to get them home before dark. Quentin was deep withing thought, walking along his cart when a flash of blue caught his attention.

There was only one fae he met with this particular shade.

“Good evening Mr. Bond”

The man stopped and turned, shocking Quentin with racoon eyes and dirt plastered all over his being. Horrified Quentin sped forward looking the man over for injuries.

“Oh my, what happened?! Are you alright?”

“...I will be.”

He took a quick glance to the grasshoppers who looked equally shocked; and when he met their gaze they nodded. Slowly Quentin grabbed Bond’s arm and gently pulled him to the cart.

“Hop on, it’s not far until we reach my home.”

“I know.”

Those were the only word Bond spoke for a long time. He didn’t speak when Quentin ushered him down from the cart into his home – Quentin only disappeared for a moment to set the grasshoppers free from the pulling gear – Bond didn’t speak when the worst grime was washed off his face, he didn’t speak either when his shallow wounds were cleaned and bandaged.

Quentin was nearly at loss what to do with Bond when he let out a simple:

“Thank you.”

“No trouble. Can you tell me what happened?”

“A mission gone very wrong.”

A vague answer, again. It made Quentin sigh. He wouldn’t get any more information out of him today and was too tired himself to inquire further. Bond wasn’t crumbling in front of him and that had to be enough for the day.

However, in the state the fae was in and especially on foot, he wouldn’t even see the capital on the horizon when the last sunlight would  disappear .

A guest overnight then.

When was the last time anyone had slept at his tree-stump other than him? He was totally not prepared! He gave Bond a raspberry to munch and a cup of water to distract him and give himself a bit of time to do at least something makeshift. 

He didn’t  have a lot of options. 

In the end he got whatever blankets and cushions he could spare and made a nest below his moss collection. It had to be enough. When he turned his attention back to Bond the man was polishing his spear, the flower he had used to med the break beautifully blooming.

“The spear held.”

“It did, thank you very much for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Quentin couldn’t take the awkward silence very long. Antsy he went out to carry the first few gears inside. Sorting them as to which one could interact with which. He had wooden gears in place to help him guiding and regulating a thin stream of water to ensure running water in his home. But the wooden ones were always so hard to move after rain when they were soaked up in moisture and they were easily attacked by fungi. His magic prolonged the lifetime of the gears but they ultimately had to be changed once a year. Metal ones would live longer; the only thing standing in the way of a one-to-one exchange was the fact that the metal gears were lager.

Now he had to somehow make them fit.

“What are you doing?”

Startled Quentin let go of the gear in his hand which fell down with a loud clank, barely missing his toes. He had blocked out the presence of his guest.

“Upgrading my water system.”

“At this time of the night?”

...this time of the night? Quentin took flight to look out of his window and ho and behold: it was pitch black outside. 

He blinked owlishly.

Well, at least his luminescent plants did their job properly.

Mindful that his total lack of sleeping rhythm wasn’t the norm, Quentin stored his tools away and laid some tarpaulins over the brightest plants to darken the room. Usually, he wouldn’t have to do that because his sleeping room is dark and dug deep right under his feet but with Bond topside, he couldn’t assume that the Knight can sleep in simulated daylight.

With both mumbling  _ Good Night _ , Quentin opened a hatch in the floor and stepped his little ladder down.

* * *

Bond was deadbeat tired but couldn’t sleep and it wasn’t the fault of the nest he had been given to lay down. His thoughts were constantly analysing when his mission went wrong. Was it his choice of route? Was it to tell the boy to fly while he held off the shadows? So many tiny factors, so many possible outcomes and still, the boy ended up dead.

He wasn’t sure if he was grateful for Quentin, that he came across him and offered his home as shelter once more. On one hand he wanted to be alone to think on the other...he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. What a predicament.

In the morning he would return to the capital without an Inventor. Mansfield would be furious, lecturing him for hours. But that wasn’t even the worst part: without an Inventor to keep their gear running and improving – or at least supervising other to do so – the city would slowly but surely start to crack under the pressure of shadows. Not very fast! The last Inverntor had been good in his barriers and protective gear, but the collapse was inevitable. 

That it truly was only a matter of time was never told the public and was one of the best kept secrets. Bright minds had invented their  defences , bright minds were required to continue so and understand what their predecessors had  built .

Bond had tried to make sense of the plans, towers upon towers of script-covered papers and not even an inkling had made sense to him.

And he was a good thinker.

His eyes fell onto the gears laying on one of the work benches.

Quentin...he seemed to be a capable fellow. His fixed spear a proof  first and foremost .

An Inventor who not only understood the workings of magic but could utilize it as well, was a rarity only documented a handful of times since the records of the city begin. So bright eyed, so free.

Bond tried to imagine Quentin inside the narrow halls and the bustle of fae working at the Headquarters. It looked good in his mind but Bond knew better.   
No-one lived this far off from a city or trade-route without reason. 

He sighed into the faintly illuminated room.

Bond didn’t want to destroy the spark the other man had; it was found so few in the  faes of today. Maybe they felt the growing darkness. Quentin was a man that wanted to  _ live _ , to explore unconcerned with deadlines or things that could box in one’s though.

No, he wouldn’t tell Mansfield more about Quentin’s true potential.

They always found another Inventor, it needn’t to be Quentin.

Listening the quiet snoring coming from beneath him, Bond drifted to sleep.

* * *

Bond awoke with the pitter-platter of naked feet on stone followed by the groaning of a wooden ladder. He was comfortable for now, so he simply rolled further onto his stomach watching what Quentin would do.

Well, the man stumbled more than he walked, the shirt he wore was too large and his wings rearranged themselves every few seconds as if they were unsure how to find a comfortable position to rest in. 

“...where are my glasses?”

Apparently, the man talked to himself as well.

One stubbed toe and another scraped knee the man found his object of desire with the thickest glasses Bond had ever seen and the little spectacle was over. Quentin saw him and did a little surprised jump.

“Couldn’t you have just told me where my bloody glasses are?!”

“I didn’t even know you needed them.” And he barely bit down the:  _ I wouldn’t want to miss the show _ .

“I can magically counter it...just not early in the morning.”

Early was a loose term, the sun had been up for quite a while. It was quite surprising that Bond had slept that long. After more shuffling around Quentin pressed a tea into his hands as well as a sweet loaf of bread.

It was a slow start in the morning but Bond found himself enjoying it.

.

.

_ The calm before the storm. _

And with those thoughts Bond’s mind was back to business. He had to get back to the capital and another Inventor had to be found. Something in him felt itchy as well so there was nothing better than to just get on the move.

He thanked his host for the accommodations and thanked again for his repaired spear.

It had been the only reason why he at least came out alive from the last enemy-encounter.

Bond straightened the bend tip of his wing, (ignoring the wince from Quentin) settled them against his back and was on his way again.

* * *

Mansfield did give him a lengthy lecture, though ranting more about how she had to find somebody new and not that Bond had failed and innocents had been killed in the process.

He was glad for that.

However, both froze when the siren echoed through all the rooms and halls. It felt worse than a bucket of ice being emptied above him.

Only 2 times Bond had ever heard this particular siren.

The first time his parents were lost to him, the other was a drill that send him into a panic attack. His senses zeroed in on Mansfield who already had a  Telemarble in hand asking over the magic connection what zone had been affected.

The old cow fields.

Only when he was outside, seeing the direction everyone was facing Bond understood the gravity.

Quentin lived on the old cow fields.

A sucker punch into the gut would’ve been kinder.


End file.
